


Opening Windows

by some_good_clean_fun



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bisexuality, Break Up Talk, CYOA, Choose Your Own Adventure, Deception, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Gen, M/M, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_good_clean_fun/pseuds/some_good_clean_fun
Summary: Vine was dead. It broke your heart to realize it, but there was nothing you could do to change it. If you choose to pursue Youtube, go to page 123./If you choose to become a rube, go to page 135.
Relationships: Danny Gonzalez/Drew Gooden, Danny Gonzalez/Laura, Danny Gonzalez/Original Female Character, Danny Gonzalez/Paul Zimmer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Opening Windows

**Author's Note:**

> Danny’s 2nd channel videos about Episode (where he gets a little bit sillier, goofier and wackier, and drinks La Croix) inspired me to write a Choose Your Own Adventure fic in which you are Danny. In this story, several relationships are endgame and every main character is bi. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Oh wait, yes I do. Because I make the rules, there are lots of chances to be with Drew.

**Page 1**

Vine was dead. It broke your heart to realize it, but there was nothing you could do to change it. Maybe it was for the best. Sure, you’d gotten some brand deals, recognition, and positive attention, but could you really spend at least three hours a day planning, practicing, shooting, editing and adding special effects for 6 second videos in the long-run? Yes, yes you could. But should you? Probably not. 

You’d already lost your childhood sweetheart from concentrating too much on the Vine and not enough on the relationship. 

You loved Vine. It was like a capsule version of LazyNeighbors, a tiny little chef’s kiss of creativity. With each new video you honed your crafts. Your comedic timing, your scripting, your VFX, they’d all improved out of sight. You’d gotten to meet so many other awesome creators, from Drew, Cody, Kurtis, Kenny and Jeff, to Mikaela, Lauren, Emily, Chloe and hell, even Lele. It was inspiring meeting even more people who had a drive to be creative, like you. Especially since Matt had decided to get a real job and Tim was traveling for post-grad study. 

Now, you had some choices to make. Would you pursue your dream job of becoming a Youtuber, or would you try to become a real boy and get a real job?

If you choose to pursue the tube, go to page 123.  
If you choose to become a rube, go to page 135.

**Page 123**

It turns out, it wasn’t as easy as ‘becoming a Youtuber’. There was a fuckton of work involved. You moved to LA, built on your existing connections. Jeff and Brendon let you work with them and stay with them. They featured you in their sketches and vlogs. You tried open mic nights, though they often had you feeling pants-shittingly terrified. Sometimes, you couch surfed, staying with your childhood buddy Nico. You guys workshopped sketches together, and they were pretty good, but they weren’t attracting much interest. 

About 4% of your audience from Vine followed you to Youtube. You somehow had less of a following than you did when you were a kid. You loved doing comedy sketches, but it was not hitting the same as it used to. 

You’d looked at what others were doing and how they seemed to be successful. Some of the strategies others used were personally distasteful to you, but you were at the point where you kind of wanted to try anything to get where you wanted to be.

If you give up entirely, go to page 135.  
If you choose to change up your content, go to page 169.  
If you choose to keep doing what you’re doing, go to page 138.

**Page 169**

So, the thing was, you were aware that you were a good-looking guy. It was hard to ignore when you received DMs on the reg at both your Twitter and Instagram gushing about how cute you were. You’d been invited to prom on several occasions. 

You didn’t want to do it at first. But you saw how you could capitalize on your looks to gain subscribers and fans alike. You started working out daily, frequently outside so you’d tan. You began posting on a Musical.ly account. It wasn’t ironic, but it also wasn’t not ironic. That’s what you told yourself, anyway. It was easy to pose, smile seductively, lipsync, show off your developing abs and biceps. 

You had a go-to move of dragging your hand through your hair, flexing your arm to make your muscles stand out at the same time as making your curls bounce just so. Girls and guys alike often commented how you had that wide-eyed twink vibe. Plus, you had a young face. You waxed your chest and treasure trail to really seal the deal. You were seen as non-threateningly sexual and it won you a devoted group of fans.

You’d do lives every other day, setting up the room in the apartment you shared with Jeff as your studio.

You went balls to the wall with your room decoration. Quite literally. You adhered hemispheres of mirror balls to the section of the room you liked to record in, placed a plush dark blue couch with fur-covered throw pillows in the center of the space. You repainted the entire room, going for a slate gray that bought out the brightness of your eyes and warm undertones of your tan. The room was what a teen would think of as classy and opulent and an adult would think of as cheap and tacky. 

You’d had to opt for a single bed and it was wedged under the window. You had no storage space and had reduced your material worth to a few loose Ts, several tank tops and two pairs of skinny jeans and shorter than you initially found comfortable shorts, but it was worth it for the filming set-up.

It was Musical.ly perfection.

You quickly developed a following of over 18 million across both Musical.ly and Instagram; way more than you’d attained on Vine and Youtube combined. You were pretty sure the age range of your fans was 10 – 20, but hey, if they wanted to support you, and their parents were dumb enough not to block in-app purchases, there was nothing you could do.

Every now and then you’d post a sketch on your Insta – lowest common denominator stuff – and your fans would go wild. A handsome guy who was hilariously funny too? Gold. 

Do you choose to keep on this trajectory? Go to page 170.  
Do you choose to switch it up? Go to page 184.

**Page 170**

It took a couple of months before you realized your friends rarely returned your calls. Jeff had taken to leaving the apartment early and returning late, working at Collab and his comedy sets. 

One day you decided to confront him about it. 

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” 

Jeff looked like a cornered animal. He shifted awkwardly on the couch. “Uhh, hey Danny. Nothing much. Just chillin’, you know.”

“Like a villain, ehhh.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel like we haven’t spoken for, like, ever.”

“We talked yesterday.”

“You mean when I asked if you wanted some yoghurt and you said no? Yeah, really fascinating conversation there.”

Jeff shrugged. “What’s there to say?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. I just. I feel like we have nothing in common anymore. Every time I ask you what you’re planning, you talk about your latest outfit or how much you wanna bench-press next week.”

“You could at least fake interest. That’s what I do whenever you mention your vlogs.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Jeff sounded bitter. His face scrunched up into an expression that indicated he was feeling some kind of way. You couldn't help but want to poke the bear, wake it from its hibernation, and see what it had been sleeping on all this time. The bear being Jeff.

“I’m just saying, it’s like, a sinking ship with thousands of drowning mice. No one on Youtube cares about sketch comedy anymore. If they ever did.”

“At least I’m not selling my body to the highest bidder.”

You laughed. It was hollow. “I wanna buy Jeff’s body, please. I have a pocket full of cheeto dust and one bent nickel! What? You’ll only take the dust? Sweet!”

“Danny, you’ve kind of turned into a massive asshole. Can you really blame me for not wanting to look at you anymore, let alone speak with you? Look at your choices.”

“Jeff, with disrespect, I don’t care. You know what? I don’t need your negative energy in my life. You’re jealous of my success? Fine. I was staying here as a favor. I can afford my own place. I’ll be out by the end of the week.”

“Good! Great!”

If you think this is indeed good and great, turn to page 172.  
If you feel bad for how things have gone with Jeff, turn to page 197.

**Page 172**

You moved into a new apartment complex that was popular with Musical.ly stars. The best thing about this was that you could all coordinate duets and features in each other’s Musical.lys and lives. The bad thing about this was that you started to forget what it was like to have an ordinary conversation.

Sometimes you felt lonely. 

Through ad revenue, sponsorships and brand deals, you made enough money that you were able to buy so much shit you didn’t think about it a whole lot. You owned two cars; a Chevy Corvette C8 for special occasions and a Suburu WRX for every day driving. You had the best tech set-up of everyone you knew, even though you didn’t spend a lot of time on your computer anymore. Plus, you were out every night with another crew.

One night you got drunk and invited another Musical.ly creator to your apartment. Technically, you and Paul were rivals, but you learned a lot in the early days studying his output and game recognized game. The initial intention was to set up a series of features, but halfway through the night you ended up making out and the next morning he was still in your bed. He was the first person to sleep there more than three hours. You didn’t mind. 

Paul was kinda dumb, but he was pretty and enthusiastic. You found you could teach him a lot. He was also surprisingly cuddly and there were times when you needed that naked affection, those warm touches.

You set up a fuck-buddy system so that when either of you was single, you kept each other company. You had a string of one night stands, so you found yourself rocking up at Paul’s apartment door most weeks, brandishing spirits, lube and condoms. Most of the time he welcomed you in. You didn’t let it hurt when he already had someone there. One time you joined in anyway. 

When Musical.ly renamed to TikTok you both went from strength to strength and attracted even wider audiences with your collaboration videos. 

The fans could see the chemistry between you and they wanted more. You teased them with near kisses and tight holds, staring into the lens like you could stare into people’s souls. 

One day you were scrolling through Socialblade when you noticed one of your old acquaintances, Drew Gooden, was making a meteoric rise on Youtube. You wondered how.

If you choose to check out the video, turn to page 16.  
If you think about it for ten seconds but then forget about it, turn to page 176.

**Page 176**

You had everything you could have ever wanted. You were hot. You were surrounded by sycophants. You were rich. You fucked almost anyone you wanted whenever you wanted. 

So why did you feel so soulless?

You knew that TikTok stardom could only go so far, but you hadn’t been working on any transferable skills for 2 years now. You tried not to think about it. Maybe one day you’d go back home to Illinois, spend time with family, become grounded again. But for now, you lived a life of late-nights, partying, substance-abuse, shallow relationships and shallower aspirations. 

You were pretty. You were miserable. You were pretty miserable. 

To go back to Illinois, turn to page 184.  
To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 197**

You stormed into your room and began packing up your things. As you did so, you came across some photos of you, Jeff and Brendon at the beginning of your LA adventure. You looked so different – skinny, pale, but smiling so wide your cheeks were like a hamster’s and your eyes were a kind of bright they hadn’t been for way too long. You sat on your bed and thought about it. 

The little voice at the back of your head that was constantly berating you to do better, be better, was chiming in now, telling you that you’d acted like a huge jerk. Jeff had a point – the last four months all you’d cared about was clout. Did you really want to be that guy? Surely there had to be more to life than follower counts and scamming young teens? 

You took some deep, stabilizing breaths, and left your room. Jeff was sitting on the couch playing Super Smash Bros.

“Hey, man,” you said, sitting next to him. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“Okay.”

“I know that I’ve been neglecting our friendship lately. It was never my intention, but I think I’ve gotten caught up in being one of the popular kids for once.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Danny, it’s not like you were the dweeb who got picked on all the time before. You’ve always had a large group of friends.”

You sighed. “Yeah, I had friends, but none of us were the cool kids. When I started to get a taste of fame and fortune, I guess I let it go to my head.”

Jeff glared at you. “You guess?”

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Jeff paused the game, turned to face you. “I appreciate the apology. But I’m still angry. You’ve been the worst kind of douche for months now.”

“Is it really that douchey to post thirst traps?”

“Yes, Danny, it is when those thirst traps are targeted at literal children. You used to understand that.” 

“I don’t target children specifically,” you said. Then you twisted your mouth up, relented. “Okay maybe sometimes I do, but I don’t respond to DMs. I don’t make any promises.”

“That doesn’t make your behavior acceptable, man. I think you need to seriously reconsider your life choices.”

“Fine. I, uhhh, I have some sketch ideas, if you wanna work on them with me?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I need some time to think about it.”

“All right. I understand.”

If you feel like things with Jeff can’t be mended, go to page 172.  
If you feel like going back to making old school videos, go to page 138.  
If you choose to give it all up, go to page 135.

**Page 16**

You pulled up Drew’s channel. Your heart stopped when you realized the latest video had been posted thirty minutes before and that in the thumbnail there was a picture of you with the hem of your shirt up, with a picture of Drew superimposed, grimacing. You clicked the video.

“Hey Guy, welcome back to TikTokers Anonymous, your one-drop stop for all who want to quit looking at TikTok, but just can’t find the uninstall app feature. A month or two ago I made a video about TikTok being like those brainslugs from Futurama, slowly but surely hypnotizing its users into being morons, and it’s come to my attention that this is even more true than I had initially assumed,” Drew said.

You paused the video for a minute, needing to catch your breath. It had been over a year since you’d last seen Drew – either in person or online. He looked good. His eyes were the same dark blue you remembered, his features angular and refined. You’d developed the beginnings of a friendship during your Camp Unplug days, but you’d let that slip through the cracks when you moved to LA. Late, late at night you thought about it sometimes, about what could have been. You always thought you’d sensed the potential of a life-long friendship, if not something else, something you wouldn’t even admit to yourself.

You had a horrible feeling you knew where Drew’s video was going and it physically hurt; a pain in your chest. 

If you choose to keep watching Drew’s video, turn to page 17.  
If you think about it for a short while but then forget about it, turn to page 176.

**Page 17**

You clicked the play button again and watched, not shocked so much as disbelieving. How could someone you had liked and respected so much be so cruel?

“You see, up until now, I hadn’t thought I’d known anyone who was TikTok famous. Maybe it was wilful ignorance, maybe I’m blind, maybe the algorithm hadn’t realized I’d be interested in the same things as eleven year old girls and pervy fifty year old guys, but I hadn’t known that an old buddy of mine, Danny Gonzalez, had made it big on the app when it was still Musical.ly.”

Drew winced. “What I’m about to show you should come with a content warning. Viewer discretion is advised. When Danny was on Vine, he was, in my opinion, one of the most creative and clever content producers. You can’t deny that some of his Vines are iconic, from the Jurassic Park ‘What Are Those’ Vine, that I know must’ve been a bitch to keyframe, to IFace, to something simpler like ‘hey mailman, what’ve you got?’; they were all great.”

Drew showed some of your Vines. You wondered if you were allowed to do a copyright claim on his video. You sure wanted to slap him with legal.

“When we met, Danny seemed like a guy with humor, integrity and drive. Well, he still has the drive, but I don’t know where the humor or integrity could’ve gotten to. But don’t just take my word for it, watch a few of his Musical.lys and TikToks and how he stares dead-eyed into the camera while showing off his hot, hot bod for masses of screaming teens, to get the full effect.”

You closed the browser tab at this, shaking your head. What a dickhead. But was there a sliver of truth to his words? 

If you decide to not give a fuck what Drew thinks, turn to page 176.  
If you decide there is a sliver of truth to Drew’s words, turn to page 184.  
If you decide to contact Drew and cuss him out, turn to page 18.

**Page 18**

You had an old contact number for Drew that you didn’t know for sure would work but you gave it a call anyway. You were gratified and stressed when he picked up. In a second, everything you’d wanted to say, all the reasonable criticism, flew out your head and all you could think to say was, “Hey, Drew, this is Danny, what the actual fuck.”

“Hey Danny, I could ask you the same thing,” Drew replied placidly. You hated that falsely calm tone. 

“Fuck off.”

“Eloquent.”

“What makes you think you’re so much better than me, you asshole?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t target young people and wheedle them out of their pocket money?”

You bunched up your fist. Drew was saying something you’d secretly thought about for too many hours in the depths of night. But you also knew you’d worked hard to get where you were. It wasn’t easy, maintaining your physique and shooting so many quality TikToks every single day. You’d been on the grind for months. 

“You don’t sell merch? You don’t encourage your fans to click on ads? You don’t do brand deals?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Sure it is. Still trying to get that coin. How many hours a week do you work, Drew? ‘Cause me, I’m 9-5 almost every day, baby.”

Drew snickered. His voice was deep and mocking when he spoke. “If you can call what you do work.”

“You’re an intellectual snob.”

“You’re a poseur.”

“Keep my name out of your fucking mouth.”

You ended the call, then chose to channel the tension and negative energy you were feeling into a bunch of Bad Boy TikToks that stayed on the For You pages of millions for days. It was one way to show Drew up, but you couldn’t help but want to do it some other way too. 

If your choice is to forget all about Drew and continue as a TikToker, turn to page 176.  
If your choice is to go back to making old school Youtube videos, turn to page 138.  
If your choice is to seduce Drew, turn to page 19.

**Page 19**

Something you’d noticed while watching Drew’s video was his expression when he viewed your Musical.lys and TikToks. It was the same as when you would hang out alone during and after Camp Unplug. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Drew wasn’t pretending to find you hot. His shoulders tightened and his jaw became tense. His eyes were focused, concentrating on your muscular physique. 

You knew you could use this to your advantage. 

You called Drew again, lied and said you were going to be in Orlando for a friend’s shoot. Actually, you were going to show Drew what a hypocrite he was and embarrass him in front of his paltry number of fans. 

“Full offence, Danny;- what makes you think I’d want to spend any time with you?” Drew said on the phone. “You sold out, dude.”

“You want my legions of fans to spam you night and day with gifs of me grinding? If we meet up and do a short ‘let bygones be bygones’ video, you might actually gain some new subscribers, and I’ll look like I can take criticism and mock myself.”

“Mmm. You have a point.”

You flew to Orlando. Anticipation was bubbling low in your gut. You were looking forward to this – the ultimate revenge. 

When you saw Drew in person, you tried to remain cool and collected, but you couldn’t deny that the spark of desire was a two-way street. While you engaged in small talk you ensured you moved close but not too close, flirting with a sense of plausible deniability. 

Drew was easy to flirt with. His tone was constantly laced with wit or sarcasm but he had an element of sweet naivete about him too, like he wasn’t used to people finding him attractive. Drew was thin and lanky where you were shorter with lean, rippling muscles. The contrast was obvious when you placed your hand on his pale upper arm, just under the sleeve of his shirt, pretending to feel his bicep. 

“Deceptively wiry,” you said with a quirked eyebrow. “If you didn’t find it so distasteful, you could show off your goods too.” 

Then you let him go, laughed, like you were carefree. 

You talked about other ex-Viner acquaintances, scripted out what your TikToks and Youtube videos were going to contain, and pretended to be more like the Danny Drew had once known. 

You were never going to be that guy again. 

You were surprised by how easy it was to shoot with Drew. He took direction well and he was good at communicating his vision. He didn’t have any qualms about rehearsing and he had some good tips on adding comedic beats to both of your videos. It was almost like the old days, working with your buddies. But not, because you’d had no real vision back then and were just playing around. Now, you had a mission. 

In one shot, you deliberately got all up in Drew’s space, grinding against him. A blush spread across his cheekbones, and he didn’t complain. 

That night, you convinced him to go clubbing with you. It took some persuasion, but you knew you had him when he stared at you in your thin, tight shirt with rolled up sleeves. At the club you danced with anyone who would have you, but you devoted the majority of your time to Drew;- checking in on him after every dance and eventually, finally, luring him to join you on the dancefloor.

Drew shuffled close to you, breath hot against your cheek and lower back wet with perspiration. 

“I’m guessing you don’t do this a lot,” you said, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

“No. I’m guessing you do?”

You grinned. “It’s fun, losing yourself in the rhythm, letting your body move however it wants to the beat.”

You wrapped your hands around Drew’s waist, rocked with him in time to the track that was playing. It was a dance track with a slower tempo. Drew moved even closer into your orbit as you danced through several more tracks. You shifted until you were plastered up against him, your thumb resting near his neck pulse-point and your other hand tucked into the top of his waistband. Drew’s hands were placed less intimately, but occasionally he’d flex his fingers like he wanted to slide them somewhere else. 

The chemistry was so apparent, it felt like Bill Nye was just around the corner, waiting to pop out and school everyone in the club.

You dragged your hand down from Drew’s shoulder to his arm, taking him by the hand and leading him out the club and into the alleyway. 

You made out. You did more than that. You recorded what you could when Drew was too out of it to notice. It felt so sweet, and not just because Drew was obviously new to being with a guy. Thinking about how you were going to make him look had you drunk on power.

The next day you left, not proud but definitely satisfied. You refused to respond to all of Drew’s texts, smiling contentedly when they started to come in all caps. 

A new hashtag of ‘DannySaysBiRights’ started trending on TikTok, Twitter and Instagram. Predictably, Drew received a bunch of dislikes on his videos, especially after your crying, ‘I thought we had something but afterwards he said he only wanted a one night stand’, bit went so viral it hit the local news.

You knew that TikTok stardom could only go so far, but you hadn’t been working on any transferable skills for 2 years now. Honestly, it didn’t matter to you if you soared to new heights or crashed into the ocean, Icarus style. You lived a life of late-nights, partying, substance-abuse, shallow relationships and shallower aspirations. You’d burned most of the bridges that could have led you out of this life and you didn’t give a shit. 

You were beautiful on the outside, but ugly on the inside, and while it wouldn’t take long for a lot of people to realize that, for the moment, life was good.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 184**

There was a song with the lines ‘you came to take us/all things go, all things go/to recreate us/all things grow/all things grow,” that you thought about as you drove back to Illinois. You didn’t listen to the song. There was a big part of your heart that was broken and bruised and you didn’t know how to cope with it. 

This was going to be a much-needed reset. The fact it had to happen made you feel sore, like a lion with a thorn in its paw, but you supposed everyone had these bumps in the road, otherwise what was the point of living? Your similes and metaphors were getting entangled, but that was all right. 

You didn’t have a lot to bring back, you’d sold most of your extraneous stuff, figuring you could buy whatever you needed back home. On the road trip was just you in your fully loaded car with the dog you’d adopted at the last moment of leaving. 

Peanut was in a small pet carrier on the passenger seat beside you and she gazed up at you with her beautiful brown eyes, licked your fingers when you pushed them through the grate of the carrier, and yipped when you drove over a particularly rocking part of road. You made sure to stop frequently and let her out, give her water and a little walk, though usually she preferred you to walk and her to be held. 

When you finally arrived at the doorstep of your parent’s house, you felt no shame at crying as your mom wrapped her arms around you and tucked her head into your shoulder.

“I’ve missed you so much, Danny,” she said, voice thick with emotion. 

“I’ve missed you too, mom,” you replied, snuffling into the top of her head. 

“Is it hug Danny time?” Matt said, coming up on the other side.

He wrapped his arms around the both of you.

“No hugging without me,” your dad mock-yelled, enveloping all of you somehow with his freakishly long arms. 

You giggled through your tears and wriggled free, smiling at the looks of happiness on everyone’s faces. Your dad immediately went to your car and started unloading suitcases. Your mom took Peanut inside. 

“What’re you doing here?” you asked Matt, rubbing at your cheek. It was wet and warm. 

“Me and Becca are staying for dinner to torture you with old-time reminiscing,” Matt said with a shrug. 

“Oh God, nooooooo!”

You and Matt helped your dad unload. You were going to be staying in the basement for the foreseeable future, until you’d found your feet. Your mom had cleared out a lot of the old junk; props from yours and Matt’s childhood videos, boxes of old books, and random knick knacks that your family had accumulated over the years. In the corner of the room you could see the ping pong table propped up flat against the wall with four sombreros dangling from the corner.

Everyone let you get settled in before they called you up for dinner. You prioritized making a space for Peanut, getting her sleeping space all ready, even though you knew she’d invariably sleep on the bed with you. 

When you eventually made it upstairs you’d changed clothes and washed your face. Perhaps you didn’t know what you were doing with your life, but it wasn’t all bad. You knew that you had a good support system in place.

You low-key participated in the discussion around the dinner table, preferring to sit back and listen. No one urged you too much to make a solid contribution, not even Matt, despite initially attempting to persuade you into recreating The Dying Squid. 

By the end of the night you were exhausted, but you knew this was only the start of everything. A new beginning, full of new promises.

If you choose to do nothing for several weeks, turn to page 24.  
If you choose to start a regular Youtube upload schedule, turn to page 57.

**Page 24**

Three weeks went by in record time. You honestly couldn’t say what’d happened over those 21 days. You had no idea what day of the week it was, and events seemed to blur into one another. You’d gotten into a totally disordered sleeping schedule, in which you were awake at three in the morning, but still asleep at one in the afternoon. 

You rewatched all of your old favorite shows, from Psych, to Spongebob, to old seasons of Whose Line Is It Anyway? 

You’d never really been much of a gamer, but you found yourself getting into first person shooters and open world role-playing games in a big way. You’d immerse yourself for hours on quests because it gave you a focus and a goal to work toward. 

You ensured you weren’t a complete burden. You tidied up regularly, did your own laundry, helped with the chores, provided assistance to your parents with household projects such as varnishing the decking and repainting the dining room. You’d walk Peanut every day, going to familiar childhood haunts. 

After three weeks, your dad visited you in the basement. He sat on the end of your bed. You paused Skyrim, swung around in your chair to face him.

“Danny, I don’t want you to think I’m parodying your Vine dad character, but what are your plans, son?”

“How can you parody my impression of you?” you teased.

Your dad gave a small smile, shook his head. Then he sobered up. “Seriously, Danny, your mom won’t tell you this, but she’s concerned.”

You swallowed thickly, spread your hands out. “I don’t have a plan.”

You weren’t depressed, you were just taking some much needed time out. Maybe if you said that enough times, everyone, including you, would believe it. 

“Well, what do you want to do?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“You’ve always been creative. You’ve always been a performer,” your dad prompted you.

“Yeah, and I tried that. I really tried. I did my best and it wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough.”

“So you’re giving up because it didn’t go exactly according to plan?”

“For now! Maybe forever. I don’t have any answers for you, Dad,” you said, not wanting to sound whiny, but sounding so regardless. 

“You’re also good at math,” your dad said next. It was increasingly obvious he was also grasping at straws. And the slippery little suckers kept falling down.

You sighed. ‘Math’ by itself was hardly a career path. 

“I have a friend, Bernard, who wants someone to do special effects on his advertisements. Even though you’re not qualified, you’ve had a lot of practice. You could do that,” your dad said next; an olive-branch, an open hand.

“Would it pay?”

“In experience.”

“That sounds terrible.”

Your dad looked pointedly around the basement. “Yeah I can see you have no free time whatsoever to build a portfolio and get yourself out there.”

There wasn’t much you could say to refute that. You gritted your teeth and rubbed a hand down your face. “All right, give me his contact. I’ll hit him up, in my own time.”

“That’s a wise choice.”

Was it even really a choice?

Do you choose to do VFX for Bernard?, if so, turn to page 44.  
Do you choose to continue spending your days doing sweet FA?, if so, turn to page 59.

**Page 44**

Working for Bernard was total ass. He had completely unrealistic ideas about what could be achieved within a reasonable timeframe and he seemed to think you were also his main source of tech support. He insisted you do all of the special effects for his Used Car adverts on site rather than at home, even when you explained you’d need a quiet area to concentrate, and he was always popping in and checking on your work, long before it was fit to be seen.

Having a regular routine got you into a proper sleeping pattern and like your dad said, you were building a portfolio, however. After not too long, Bernard was recommending you to other local business owners and they had actual budgets. 

You kept your rates low at first, but after a few months and having dedicated time to completing online courses with specific software, you were able to charge a fair wage for a week’s work. 

By the end of the year, you had a substantial body of work, and more-than-entry-level skills to bring to prospective VFX houses. You were still living in your parent’s basement, and you still mostly felt like a dog with its tail between its legs, but you had a direction to journey toward and you discovered you really enjoyed working on adding to, editing and improving other people’s work. 

You secured a position with a company that did effects for nationwide advertising and soon settled into the stressful but low-risk environment. 

It was while you were on lunch break that you bumped into your ex-girlfriend, Laura. She had also moved back to Illinois; something you’d known, but not really thought about. She looked beautiful as ever, and you unconsciously clutched your hand to your chest at the pang of pain you felt seeing her again after all this time.  
“Hey, Danny,” Laura said, looking up at you with a small, awkward smile. 

“Hey! Hi! How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

“I’m okay.” 

“I saw the last videos you posted. It’s been a while,” Laura said, gently. 

“Yeah, I decided to try something different for a change. I’ve been working on professional VFX. I’m actually due back at work in five minutes.”

“I’m due back at work…” Laura glanced at her watch, blinked. “Ten minutes ago. It was nice seeing you,” Laura said, and it felt genuine. “You have my number if you wanna hang out some time.” 

You gazed at her retreating back, your pulse thumping loudly in your ears.

If you call her, turn to page 90.  
If you don’t call her, turn to page 93.

**Page 59**

You forgot to contact Bernard. Sure, it might have been awfully convenient forgetting, but in your defense, it wasn’t a super memorable task. You literally did not remember that you’d said you’d call him. Your dad brought it up a month later and you thought your dad assumed you were playing dumb, but the joke was on him – you were dumb. 

The thing was, your soul was crushed, just a little bit. Okay, a lot. You’d had a taste of the attention and admiration you’d wanted your entire life. A smidge. A teaspoon-ful. You felt like you’d been to the world’s finest dining establishment and even though you’d spent all your riches, all you’d been served were miniscule amounts designed to look appetizing and make you ragingly hungry. You wanted more than that.

You didn’t understand where you’d gone wrong. Why hadn’t you found the kind of success you’d worked toward? Why hadn’t the same kind of comedy made people want to come back for more? Why hadn’t your audience found you again? 

All you’d ever wanted was to make people laugh, sometimes make them think, and sure, you’d wanted leverage to make money with tons of praise too, while feeling like you had integrity and highly regarded ethics, but that was hardly different from anyone else, was it?

You’d turned into a nocturnal animal. You tried to portion the hours you were awake into half hour blocks, to try and force yourself to be more productive, but it was a system that soon failed. Yes, you could assign yourself a small job to do, giving yourself twenty minutes to work steadily and ten minutes to goof off, or you could nap. Yes, you could write out a step-by-step routine with regular food breaks and short chores, or you could forget to eat for twelve hours and then consume every snack you’d horded in the basement before settling down in bed again. 

Matt insisted you join him for a bi-weekly jog, and didn’t laugh at your joke that you were surprised you weren’t the only Gonzalez brother batting for all teams, which frankly offended you. 

It was on one such jog that you both bumped into your ex-girlfriend, Laura. She had also moved back to Illinois; something you’d known, but not really thought about. She looked beautiful as ever, and you unconsciously clutched your hand to your chest at the pang of pain you felt seeing her again after all this time.

Matt leaned in and gave Laura a hug. You watched, frowning. 

Matt gave you a soft punch on the arm and you copied his gesture, loosely guiding your arm around Laura’s back. It was awkward, holding Laura once more. But nice too. She smelled the same as always, her favorite Lush perfume wafting in the air. 

“Hey Matt, it’s good to see you again. How are you? How’s Becca?”

“I’m good and she’s great. She loved the bunny card you sent for her birthday, thank you.”

“And Danny, how are you?” Laura asked next, looking genuinely curious about the answer.

“I’m just dandy,” you lied. “Everything in my life is the opposite of a dumpster fire, and I’ve never been happier.”

Laura snuffled a laugh, gazed up at you with a smile. “There’s that classic Danny humor I remember. I saw the last videos you posted. It’s been a while.”

“I wanted a short break. I felt like I needed some more inspiration, a stirring of my creative juices, if you will. Most of my ideas have been percolating. Distilling into a distinct flavor.”

“That was a hell of a mixed metaphor, champ,” Matt said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and giving you a squeeze. You were both sweaty, but what was a little brotherly sweat between men?

“If you need a sounding board, you know my number,” Laura said. 

Was she being coquettish? She was looking up at you through her eyelashes and she had a faint blush. Your tongue went dry and your throat went tight. You stared at her, unable to think of anything appropriate to respond with. 

“I’ll tell Becca you said hi,” Matt interjected into the silence, bodily dragging you away. “Say bye, Danny.”

“Bye, Danny,” both you and Laura chimed in unison. 

You glanced back at Laura when you were a few yards away and saw an expression on her face that gave you the impression she was hoping you’d call soon.

If you call her, turn to page 90.  
If you don’t call her, turn to page 93.

**Page 90**

One call turned into weekly calls turned into daily calls. You’d forgotten how good it was to chat with Laura. She was a good listener and a good talker. She knew you, the true you, the you that others glossed over or willfully ignored. She accepted you, flaws and all. Laura saw the goodness in you and also made you want to be a better person. 

You didn’t understand how you ever let this relationship slip between your fingers. You regretted your past self-obsession. 

It was a beautiful July night when you and Laura went on your first official date in years. You’d planned a candlelit dinner at a local, family run restaurant. The table setting was the perfect balance between rustic and romantic and you knew from past experience that the food would be good. You sat across from Laura and gazed at her adoringly with your hands cupped on your chin, at first as a joke, but then for real. 

Laura kicked you lightly under the table. 

“We should order a gigantic platter of spaghetti,” you suggested. 

“To recreate The Lady and the Tramp?”

“No. Because I’m starving.”

“Danny!”

“I’m kind of offended you think I look like a tramp. Or is it the lady I remind you of?”

“Both, if we’re being honest. Which, I would be okay with!”

You grinned. You could always trust Laura to play along with a bit, even when she should probably halt you in your tracks. You ordered and ate your meal while chit-chatting. You found that it was easy, talking to Laura. She got your reference points, your inside jokes, and your points of view.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, before the night was through.

It was a starlit evening, with a bright half-moon, so you decided to go for an evening stroll. The stars twinkled down on you, casting Laura with a halo.

“I’m used to watching you eat, it’s fine,” Laura quipped.

“No, I mean, I’m sorry for how everything went, with us. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve seen the signs. But I was so wrapped up in my own shit that I couldn’t escape it, you know?”

“Eww.”

“Do you think we could try again?”

“Danny, I’m here, aren’t I? This is me trying. I’m not going to deny that I was heartbroken when I felt like you chose Vine over me, but that was a long time ago. You’ve changed. I’ve changed. I think these new versions of us can make it work, if we want.”

“I do want. I want you. I want us.”

“Me too.”

You kissed Laura and everything felt right with the world. You weren’t a hundred percent sure what the future was going to bring, but you knew that you could face anything with the love of your life by your side.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 93**

What are you thinking, you dumbfuck? Go call her.

Call Laura, turn to page 90.

**Page 57**

You drew up a game plan, a strict timetable, and some goals. Your game plan was thus; make content that people wanted to watch. Your timetable was to produce three videos a week – one informal weekly vlog, one 5 minute sketch, and one single minute song creation. Your goals were to attain 5000 followers in three months, maintain your social media presence across multiple platforms, and create videos you were proud to show people.

You’d gotten a part-time job so you could pay your parents rent. It was tedious, but that was a good thing, because it gave you plenty of time to think up sketch ideas and character profiles. You knew you were going to keep your Dad character, because you enjoyed layering different kinds of humor and getting to make puns under a veil of irony, and you thought perhaps you’d resurrect your childhood creation of Baxter Whittenburg, with a few tweaks. 

Your vlogs would start out being true to life, but after a few months you’d slip in fantastical, paranormal elements, as a little treat. 

You invested a large amount of cash into decent lighting, recording equipment, and furniture for set design. Your whole family helped you revamp the basement, adding a new coat of paint, light boxes, indoor plants and attractive décor. 

You realized early on that you needed to have a couple of hooks, so you came up with a couple of catch-phrases and a stock opening and greeting line. 

One day while you were thrift-shopping for character costumes, you discovered a little light-up Nutcracker guy, and you knew he’d add a sense of whimsy and an anchor for viewers to latch onto. 

Over the weeks, with persistent, diligent work, you started to gain subs. Not only did you meet your initial goal, you doubled it. But you knew it was possible to plateau, so you began to hustle. You got into contact with many of your old Vine buddies who had also started Youtube accounts and coordinated collabs and guest appearances. You had to time everything carefully because of work, but you found a way.

“Hey guy, I’m here with my good buddy Danny Gonzalez,” Drew introduced during your first collab since Camp Unplug. 

“Actually, I’m in an entirely different state,” you countered. 

“Be that as it may, to the fans, we are together on the screen.”

You nodded. “Ahuh.”

“And even though we’re not physically close, we’re emotionally close, wouldn’t you say?”

You shook your head. “Nah-uh. This is the first time we’ve spoken in like half a year.”

Drew plastered on an expression of faux-pain, crossed his arms. “All this time I’ve been wishing you well and it turns out you don’t care because we haven’t heard each other’s dulcet tones over the tubes. I’m hurt. Nay, I’m wounded.”

“If you ever feel like your wounds prevent you from uploading to Youtube, I’m more than happy to take care of your channel and your sweet, sweet subscribers for you. If you want.”

“Hey! Get your grubby little fingers away from my Little Stinkers!” Drew shouted with a truly disturbing look on his face. He smoothed out his expression. “Anyway, guy, today is another edition of Drew and Dan and the Team Ten Clan.”

“How can it be another edition if I haven’t been with you be—”

“Shhhh, shhh, shhh, shhh, shh. Quiet, my little cabbage. I’ll let you know when it’s your turn to speak.”

You’d loved working with Drew again. Although he jokingly cut you off a couple times, he was amazing at setting up running jokes and bits. He was very generous with giving his comedy partner openers. He was quick-witted and willing to play along with your improv. And he made you laugh the hardest you’d laughed in a long time. 

You found yourself habitually watching Drew’s videos and you guessed the inspiration he sparked in you worked through your subconscious, because you soon received messages that likened your content to Drew’s. It hasn’t been intentional, but you had a similar comedic sensibility to Drew, you both used similar references and sources, and you guessed it was possible you were accidentally plagiarizing everything he did. 

You called Drew up one night when the first ten comments of your latest video were all variations on, “great video, Drew.”

“Hi, I think I might’ve accidentally formed a symbiotic relationship with you. Either that or I’m a straight-up parasite.”

“Hi to you too, Danny. Uhhh, what’s up?”

“A lot of people have been noticing that my Youtube videos are a lot like your Youtube videos.”

“Oh. Right. That’s okay. A lot of people used to say my Vines were the knock-off version of your Vines.”

“They did?”

“Sure did. All the time. They even used to say we looked alike.”

“But we don’t look alike. I have brown hair.”

“And so do I.”

“But it’s a totally different brown. Plus, I have blue eyes.”

“So do I.”

“But it’s a totally different blue!”

“How tall are you?” Drew asked, sounding deadly serious.

“5’10.”

“I’m 6 ft. There. That’s a huge difference. Two whole inches.”

You laughed. “You really don’t mind?”

“There are enough Youtubers out there that there’s bound to be some overlap and similarity. Honestly, I take it as a compliment. Your videos are great. Also, you have the whole musical talent that you’re happy to share with the world aspect that I simply don’t embody.”

You and Drew chatted for several hours. In the early hours of the next morning, you ended the call, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much. You went to bed and felt content in a way you hadn’t for a long time when Peanut settled on your chest and snuggled.

If this thing with Drew remains a friendly rivalry, turn to page 59.  
If this thing with Drew becomes a romance thing, turn to page 202.

**Page 59**

Over the next year you gained enough of an income from Youtube that you were able to quit your part-time job. Another few months after that you garnered your first brand deal and could afford to rent your own apartment. You missed living with your parents, especially their home-cooked meals, but it was amazing having your own space again. 

Your subscriber count grew exponentially and you gave your followers a name, because other Youtubers did it and you figured it was to build a sense of community, identity. You were head-hunted to join an agency; the same as Drew’s and Kurtis’. You started designing merch with a dedicated merchandising company. You were invited to Vidcon rather than having to buy a pass. And, to top it all off, you started regularly making it onto the trending page and getting close to the tops of a few lists on Socialblade. 

You did even better than both Drew and Kurtis. You never rubbed it in.

All right, you very rarely rubbed it in.

You’d worked your ass off, but it was all worth it. You’d gotten to the place you’d dreamed about. Life was good.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 202**

You arrived in Orlando on a day when the heat was sticky in the air. It itched against your skin, made you feel red raw. Of course, you were also nervous as fuck, so that likely contributed to the feeling. You walked through the domestic terminal toward baggage claim, collected your small suitcase, then went in search of the foyer. 

Drew was standing, holding a sign with the little nutcracker guy on it. He lit up when he saw you, pulled you into a hug as soon as you were within arm’s reach. You’d forgotten how tactile he could be. 

Drew collected your suitcase, led you to his car. Mercifully, he had the air conditioning set the coldest it could go, and he handed you a new icy bottle of water. 

“I guessed you wouldn’t be used to the Florida heat.”

“Does it always feel like a soaked blanket being laid on top of you?”

“Almost always. And then, of course, it never really gets cold, not even during Winter at nighttime.”

“Gross.”

You and Drew made small-talk for the rest of the journey, but it was full of pauses. It was a companionable silence, though. You had very different music tastes, but you didn’t mind listening to his tunes as he drove you to his apartment. 

When you arrived at Drew’s apartment and he showed you to his guest room, you asked if it’d be all right to take a shower.

“Oh, already?” Drew asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I guess we could start there.”

“By myself,” you clarified, rolling your eyes and willing the blush you could feel creeping up your neck to halt. 

Drew was always jokingly flirting with you. He didn’t mean anything by it. You were here for an in-person collab video, that was all.

“Awwww. And there I was hoping you’d let me loofah your back. You know… like a close friend do?”

“Maybe next time.”

You showered and tried not to imagine Drew in there with you, crowding you up against the tiles, rubbing soaped up hands against your skin. 

“So did you want the Rainbow Power Salad for dinner, or Sweet Potato & Candied Pecan Salad?” Drew asked after you’d toweled off and changed. 

Your hair wasn’t completely dry. You could feel a droplet winding down your neck, and even if you couldn’t, Drew was tracking it intently.

“Is there a non-salad option?”

“No.”

“Honestly, they both sound amazing. I’m happy with whatever.”

“Great. The ingredients are in the refrigerator and the recipe card is kept in a magazine rack on the counter.”

“Fuck you. I didn’t fly all the way here to be your live-in chef.”

“You didn’t fly here at all. The plane flew here.”

You smacked your head with the palm of your hand. “Jesus.”

Drew sighed. “I guess I could help.”

You spent the next week working closely together, filming a catalog of videos for both of your channels. You’d missed working in close quarters with someone, and Drew was fantastic at anticipating your next moves and comedic routes. His improv work wasn’t as practiced as yours, but he made up for it with zinging one-liners and truly hilarious observations. 

Also, the closeness with Drew was multi-faceted. Drew was handsy. He liked to gently press a hand into your lower back as he passed behind while in the kitchen cooking. He’d take your elbow to arrest your attention. He’d sit close to you on the couch, the heat of his thigh pressed against yours making it difficult to concentrate.

The attraction was almost unbearable. But not. You somehow managed to bear it.

At the end of the week, you didn’t want to leave. You loved being with Drew. You both had similar views of the world, your aspirations aligned, and you felt like Drew brought out the best in you. 

“I was gonna take a shower, if you wanted to join me,” you said, two days before you were set to leave. 

Drew gazed at you, gave a once-over. “Okay.”

“What, for real?”

“Only if you want.”

You rocked back on your heels, bit your lip. “I really fucking do.”

You made out. Kissing Drew was nothing like you’d imagined. It was even better. There was a passion and fire to him that he did an incredible job of tamping down day-to-day, but when he kissed you it came bursting free. 

Being with Drew made everything brighter, happier. He made you feel good about yourself as well as simultaneously pushing you to be better and you loved that about him. He made you feel safe, so you ventured out of your comfort zone and achieved more than you’d ever dreamed about. Life was good.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 138**

You drew up a game plan, a strict timetable, and some goals. Your game plan was thus; make content that people wanted to watch but that was still extremely unique to you. Your timetable was to produce three videos a week – one informal video about whatever the hell you wanted, one more formal scripted video, and one single minute song creation. Your goals were to attain 5000 followers in three months, maintain your social media presence across multiple platforms, and create videos you were proud to show people.

To concentrate on sketch videos, turn to page 300.  
To do commentary-based videos, turn to page 333.

**Page 300**

You started scripting a few sketches every week. You expanded on your favorite Vine ideas, leaned into the darker humor, and built on existing jokes. It wasn’t easy. Sometimes you’d have to set up your premise in whole new ways. You couldn’t rely on the idea that anyone watching had seen any of your other output. 

You created a brand; some catch-phrases, a follower name, a set piece of a little nutcracker guy that you’d have somewhere in all your sketches. 

It felt good, to be thumbing your nose at the idea of conforming to other people’s expectations or the establishment. The Youtube establishment. Just because Youtube had moved away from being a place for sketch comedy to flourish, that didn’t mean it was completely pointless to keep sharing sketch comedy. It just meant it would take a little longer to get your desired number of views and audience retention. 

Ultimately, your sketch videos were never very successful, but you had a small and devoted following. You were able to maintain your own website and merch store using Squarespace and you paid for passes to Vidcon three years in a row, getting to hang with other creators and Youtubers you’d never heard of who somehow had legions of subscribers. Some people; namely Drew, Kurtis, Jake, Gus and Eddy, suggested you switch gears and do commentary videos.

Drew even asked if you wanted to collab, and you really liked that idea. Drew was killing it on the tube compared to you, and you knew from previous encounters that he was awesome to work alongside.

Do you try commentary videos like one of The Boys?, if so, turn to page 333.  
Do you immediately collab with Drew?, turn to page 202.

**Page 333**

At first, you weren’t sure about doing commentary videos. You’d always played characters before -- heightened versions of people who couldn’t exist in real life. You didn’t know if anyone would be remotely interested in your real opinions. But you liked watching commentary videos, even about subjects you didn’t give a shit about, and you had to assume that other people were like that too. Additionally, you could always tell yourself that you were playing a persona of yourself. You didn’t ever reveal too much personal information, and you kept strict boundaries around your friends and family social media accounts and those open to the public. 

You researched what most people seemed to be interested in, using data your friends were happy to share, the trending page, and Socialblade. It looked like it was popular to deconstruct and analyze other popular Youtubers, and honestly, it was something you were happy to fuck around with. You had high standards and some of the assholes who’d made it big both on Vine and Youtube didn’t meet them. 

You wanted to offer a fresh perspective on what a person should do with their clout. You wanted to be an example of someone who had a sense of propriety, a moral compass, even just a baseline of basic intelligence. 

It was a tricky balance, sometimes, finding stories that weren’t too dramatic, or completely devoid of any humor. You also always wanted to ensure you were punching sideways or up, never down. The few times you think you fucked that up, you apologized in private. 

Also, you wanted to create content that took some effort, but not too much effort. You’d been burned in that regard before. You were going to pace yourself, this time. 

Early on in your commentary youtuber career you realized that the best way to boost your subscriber count was to collab and you remembered Drew’s offer. It didn’t take long to invite him over to your place.

“What’s up, Greg, hope you’re having a great day. Welcome to another episode of Clone Bros, wherein my clone Drew is visiting for a while.”

“I’m older than you, so by definition, you’d be a clone of me,” Drew said, crossing his arms against his chest.

You grinned beatifically. “Nope!”

You continued the video, dunking on a truly awful Insta personality who somehow had tens of thousands of followers. You didn’t feel at all bad mocking this man who was misogynistic, racist, and classist. Drew had some sick burns and admirable contempt for the guy. You were great at bouncing ideas off each other, creating chains of jokes that linked seamlessly. 

You realized you enjoyed working with Drew even more than you’d initially supposed. He had a good energy about him. Sometimes he could be cynical, but there was optimism there too, and even though his humor was regularly dark, it was rarely cruel. 

That night, you ordered pizza and cracked open a couple of La Croixs.

“Man, this is a tasty, tasty slice of cheesy deliciousness.”

“Why do you do that?” Drew asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Do what?”

“Repeat the same word for emphasis rather than use ‘very’ or ‘really’?”

This put you on the back-foot. You placed your slice back into the box. “Do I do it a lot?”

“All the time. Like in all your videos.”

“Oh. Uhhhh, it’s a comedic tic, I guess? Like how you say everything with a tinge of sarcasm, even when you’re not being totally sarcastic.”

“Okay, I’ll see your point and I’ll raise you my rebuttal. I’m never not being sarcastic.”

You laughed. “Well, then, you are a sweet, sweet sarcastic boy. Everything you say is ultra-ironic, and no one knows your genuine feelings on anything.”

“This is true.”

Drew reached forward, brushing his thumb against your cheek. It was very intimate – a soft, tender caress that sent your blood racing and your bones going squishy. You blinked, stared at him. 

“What’re you doing?”

Drew moved his hand away, blushed. “I thought you had some barbeque sauce under your eye, but it’s a freckle,” he said, clenching his jaw and looking anywhere but your direction. You placed your hand on top of his, stroked his fingers.

“Hey, I never said stop. I mean, you could’ve tried to lick it off.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a horror scenario, or a suggestion.”

“I think we know it’s both,” you said, edging closer to him on the couch. 

You made out and fooled around for hours. So much so that you abandoned the pizza until well after midnight, wrapped up in sheets and not much else.

The next morning you woke up to Drew staring down at you, his glasses perched precariously on his nose. The look on his face was utter fondness. “Are you wearing socks and only socks?”

“I get cold feet.”

“Thank god that’s a lie. If you hadn’t had the nerve to come onto me, we’d be nowhere near this bed. I was planning on never revealing my attraction to you.”

“The whole face-fondling thing kinda fucked you over.”  
“What a shame.”

“A travesty, indeed.”

You kissed Drew silent, smiling against his mouth. You had everything you’d ever wanted; a burgeoning career in a field you enjoyed, friends and family who supported and cared for you, and the beginnings of a new love.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 135**

You felt a little battered and bruised – not physically, but psychically, emotionally. You needed a whole new outlook, a whole new place to find yourself. You didn’t want to go back to Illinois. You thought you’d look and feel like a failure. You loved your family, but sometimes their support was stifling. Your parents had always encouraged you to follow your dreams and you didn’t know how to explain that you didn’t seem to have any anymore. Whenever you went to sleep all that greeted you was a deep, dark void. 

You needed to regroup, so you moved somewhere you’d never been before, surrounded by people you didn’t know. You’d answered a job posting for a small town in Texas and won the position based on your resume, your professed experience, and a video call interview. 

Yes, it was scary. No, you hadn’t done anything remotely like this before. But perhaps it would be exactly what you needed. 

You rented a small apartment that was still somehow bigger than everywhere else you’d stayed, barring your childhood home. You worked on the ground level of your company’s software development for small businesses. 

For the first few months you were a dogsbody, a gofer, a glorified intern. You did all the basic bitch coding, fetched everyone’s coffees, worked as a PA for the company head during client meetings. You kept your head down and your thumbs up, wanting to prove yourself. It was a grind, but you actually liked it. It kept your mind off of what had happened; your disappointments, trials and tribulations. 

After this trial period, you were given more responsibilities and your boss began to rely on you because you were compulsively punctual, extraordinarily competent, and good with people. You were soon allowed to sit in on client meetings as a trainee. 

You’d already learned a lot while note-taking and so you were able to give suggestions about app features that you thought were appropriate for different businesses. Your contributions were appreciated, by your boss, the clients, and your co-workers.

One day, your boss pulled you aside. 

“Daniel, I was hoping we could have a chat about your future with us,” he said. He had a friendly, open demeanor so the usual panic you might’ve felt at such words dissipated.

“Of course,” you answered. “I’m free right now.” 

It was your lunch break, but you’d worked through seventy percent of them anyway. One more was not going to hurt.

“We’ve been really impressed with your commitment and output these past few months.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. I love working here.”

“You’d be interested in taking on a more permanent position?”

“Absolutely.”

You almost couldn’t believe it. All you’d really been hoping for was a change in perspective and a job you didn’t actively hate. You’d found that and more. Within the year you were promoted and considered one of the leading developers for the company.

Having found success and satisfaction in your chosen career path, you started to make Youtube videos in your spare time. 

If you choose to devote more time to Youtube, turn to page 138.  
If you keep Youtube as a side-hustle, turn to page 140.

**Page 140**

You reserved every Saturday morning for shooting a Youtube video and every Monday night to editing and posting. Your videos were ten minute bad-movie reviews that included a sketch or two and you enjoyed making them, but promised yourself you wouldn’t let this take over your life again. You knew that if you concentrated too hard on your online presence you’d forget what it was like to live in the real world. 

At the end of one of your client meetings, your two worlds collided.

“Forgive me if this is too invasive, but you are the same person as Diggy Gorgonzola aren’t you?” asked Celeste, a soap maker who wanted an app that helped customers design their own specialty bars.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you replied, wide-eyed with shock. 

“Oh good! I thought I was going crazy. I love your videos. They’re hilarious.”

“Uhhh. Thank you!”

“I’m thinking of starting a Youtube channel to show off the soap making process and some of my soapy creations. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in sitting down with me and giving me some advice? I’d pay, of course.”

“No need to pay. I’d be happy to help. How does Friday 5:30 sound? The Starbucks at Main Street Village?”

“Amazing! Thanks so much.”

You didn’t intend for this to be a date, but when you turned up at the coffee shop and Celeste was wearing make-up and a flirty dress, looking completely different than the pared down look and coveralls she was wearing during your last meeting, you realized it definitely was one. 

Celeste had the most beautiful clear blue eyes and neat, friendly features. She was pretty, in a girl next door kind of way. She also had an infectiously enthusiastic, bubbly personality. 

Hah. Bubbly. 

She’d brought a notepad with her and she wrote down dot-points and sketches, but still, the way she smiled at you and the connection you felt when you accidentally brushed hands, defined this as more pleasure than work performance. 

“I could evaluate your set-up, if you’d like,” you offered, your heart beating so hard you felt like it would flop straight out of your rib cage and skin and go dancing across the floor. 

“Yes, please. That would be…” she gave a chef’s kiss and it was completely adorable. Celeste clearly spent way too much time on the internet. She was incredibly endearing.

Is this what friends be?, turn to page 141.  
Is this going to turn into a full-blown relationship?, turn to page 142.

**Page 142**

You helped Celeste with her studio set-up and advised her on what camera, lights and microphones to buy. You showed her how to edit her first few videos. You did a collab with her, where she taught you how to make cold process soap, and you watched a bad movie with her as inspiration for a custom batch.

Your dynamic was some kind of wonderful. 

The more you were together, the more you realized you were falling for her. You’d had other meaningful relationships with girls and guys, during High School and College. Yeah, you’d had a girlfriend for most of that time, but that hadn’t stopped you from experimenting sexually when you hadn’t. But this felt like something else. It offered a sense of inevitability that was the opposite of scary. 

Things with Celeste flowed gradually but inexorably toward a peak just before Christmas. By this time, you were filming and editing most of her soap videos, you had a year’s worth of bespoke soap stocked up in your bathroom – from the Gorgonzola inspired bar, to the one that looked like R2D2, to one that Celeste said was inspired by your hair. 

You’d gone back to one of your old, old hobbies and written her a couple of songs – one about bubbles and another about fairies and fairy tales. Your friendship was in that sweet spot of ‘they will, they definitely will, they just haven’t yet’. 

On Christmas Eve you went to Celeste’s with a soap you’d made all on your lonesome. It was melt and pour soap rather than cold process soap, and your artistic skills were nowhere near the level of professionalism Celeste showed, but it came from the heart. 

You sat together and opened each other’s presents with bated breath. When you opened the present Celeste had gotten you and saw a USB inside, you quirked your eyebrow. When she opened yours and saw your sparkly holographic love heart soap, she giggled for about three minutes straight. 

“It’s not empty,” Celeste said, pointing at the USB. “There’s a video contained inside.”

“Can I watch it here?” you asked, your heart beating a mile a minute. 

“Of course you can.”

You watched the video. It was Celeste acting out a ‘soap’ tutorial in which all the ingredients were elements of your relationship. It was cute, funny, and heart-warmingly adorable. 

“I think I love you,” you said when it was finished. 

“I should hope so, because I know I love you,” Celeste replied. 

You kissed Celeste soft and sweet, just wanting to give and give and give.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 141**

Even though you thought you were on a date, Celeste turned you down when you asked her out again. You discovered weeks later that she had a girlfriend named Wanda. They were sickeningly, tooth-rottingly sweet together and you didn’t begrudge them a thing. 

Celeste still became a good friend. You helped her with her studio set-up and advised her on what camera, lights and microphones to buy. You showed her how to edit her first few videos. You did a collab with her, where she taught you how to make cold process soap, and you watched a bad movie with her as inspiration for a custom batch. 

Your work colleagues teased you about your Youtube channel, but it was all in good fun. You hung out with them during your downtime and cultivated a series of ‘you had to be there’ inside jokes. 

During your first year in Texas, you’d kind of let your other, past, friendships fall by the wayside, but you’d started to forge connections with your older buddies once more and build on friendships that were in their infancy when you went incommunicado. 

One such friendship was with Drew Gooden, who had been way more successful than you in the realm of Youtube. You got into a regular pattern of video chatting every Wednesday and you looked forward to it every week. 

Turn to page 98 if you think video chatting with Drew is an important plot point.  
Turn to page 148 if you think video chatting with Drew is inconsequential.

**Page 98**

It was getting close to Christmas when the nature of your chats with Drew changed. Early on in the year you’d talk for forty minutes to an hour, catching up, discussing your various pursuits, pitching video ideas. But over the past month the chats had lasted more like four hours every Wednesday and even occurred on other days as well. Even that didn’t feel like long enough. 

You liked looking at Drew’s face. You liked listening to the tone of his voice. You liked when you’d both go for the same joke at the same time and speak in unison. 

Drew was free with his praise and criticism in equal measure. He had a quirky sense of humor that aligned perfectly with yours and he knew what it was like to have Vine and everything it stood for ripped away. He was idealistic and cynical and dark and joyous. And sometimes you were worried you were going to tell him how you felt about him and things would be awkward for weeks. Not longer than that, because Drew was a good person and an even better friend, but you didn’t like the prospect of any time without Drew in your life.

“Danny, are you dating anyone?” Drew asked the Wednesday before Christmas. It was totally out of the blue. A second ago you were discussing your least favorite five day Twitter memes.

“I would almost certainly tell you if I was,” you said, frowning at him. 

Did he want dating advice? You wondered if you could help him. You hadn’t had the best luck in the love department. Also, part of you would always want to be sabotaging his chances with other people. It seemed like a dangerous path.

Drew visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Would you date me?”

“Hypothetically? Yeah, of course. You’re handsome, you’re smart, you’re funny as hell. What’s not to like?”

“I mean genuinely. Like, for real,” Drew said, blushing a deep pink across his cheekbones. 

“Oh,” you said, your voice small. “Yeah, of course. You’re handsome, you’re smart, you’re funny as hell. What’s not to like?” You glanced down at your hands that you’d been twining together for the past three minutes. Looked back up. “I never thought this was something that could actually happen.”

“I’ve wanted it to. Or, uhhh, I want it to. I want us to happen. Fuck, how is articulation a thing during moments like this? I feel like everything I’ve said is a garbled mess of vowel sounds.”

“I don’t know, but if I wanted someone for their diction, I guess I wouldn’t want you.”

“Heh. You said dick.”

You grinned at Drew and his lame-ass humor. Even though you were miles apart, you had the feeling that this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

You had a solid job, wonderful friends, a supportive family, and you’d found love. Life was great.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.

**Page 148**

After a couple of productive, fun-filled years, you realized you had almost everything you could ever want in Texas. You had a diverse friendship group, a purpose in life, and you could live comfortably, if not excessively.

Even though you had some regrets and some ‘what-if’s popped into your head every now and then, you were overall content with your life choices. The future was bright, your soul was sated, and you were happy that this is the path you took.

To go back to the start, turn to page 1.


End file.
